


A Battle Lost

by RimauSuaLay



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-26
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RimauSuaLay/pseuds/RimauSuaLay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It has become a favorite daydream of mine; humiliating him, showing him his proper place. Making him understand what the term 'commanding officer' means.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Battle Lost

They want me to train civilians?

Me. They want _me_ to train ignorant civilians who have no notion of the reality of army life! Doctors. Priests. Maintenance people.

I want to scream and shout, but a Captain will not break down in front of his inferiors. Instead I glare at the Sergeant standing in the doorway. He salutes and rushes away, and for a moment I actually feel satisfaction about that.

Then I remember what I'm supposed to do right now, and the satisfaction disappears.

Without another glance at the open doorway, I go to pack my belongings. Nothing but army regulation issues of clothing. I live by the code; no contraband here.

I can't believe they are taking my men away from me. After all this time, all the months I trained them to become real soldiers. Easy Company is mine. The best company! I should be the one leading it into battle, not Lieutenant Meehan. That soft idiot. They should give him a new company to train, and then we'd see who's the real soldier here.

I have given this company everything, all my undivided attention. And what do they do? On the eve of battle, they take it away from me, and send me to play nursemaid to civilians. Teach them how to jump out of an airplane? Good god. Any idiot can teach that.

My job was never that simple.

Now they have changed that. I still can't believe I went to the Colonel thinking I would receive the praise I deserve and then heard that I was dismissed. The word was never said out loud, but I could hear it anyway. Dismissed.

It's because of one of those lily livered NCOs. I know it, could see it in their eyes from the beginning. No better than the others; the whole company is full of miserable bastards. Lousy excuses for soldiers.

Yes, I saw the way they looked at me. Heard the things they said. Wasn't blind enough to ignore their behavior. The whispers, the looks.

They hate me. It's not a secret, though some hide it better than others. Never heard Lipton say anything out loud, always could see the hatred in Guarnere's eyes. But they all feel it. The slow burn of anger, the rage following an order. It burns them, like it burns me.

It's as it should be. They're your men, not your friends.

I push my socks into the bag, snorting. Seems to me that most people don't really grasp that simple truth. I have yet to see anyone holding an equal or lower rank that really understands that.

You don't treat the men like that! With proper chain of command and authority they can be molded into good soldiers. It's the only way.

My men are a perfect example of that.

I know they are proud of what I've made them to be. It's there in the way they run, the way they don't think for a second before obeying a command.

Seeing that makes something stir inside me, something I've never felt before. It goes beyond all pride.

That is why _this_ goes beyond desperation. I was given a group of... I can't even think of a word to describe the raggedy bunch I inspected back in Toccoa. They were definitely not paratroopers, hardly even men. I made them into what they are now.

Each and every one of them.

It's even more than that. I didn't only train the individuals. They work together; know how to stand alone, but _damn_ they can work together. When properly inspired.

And now they're taking that inspiration away from them. It's not right. I would not feel this mad if it wasn't completely unwarranted, a conspiracy. Even if I can never gather evidence about it, I know it. Know whom to blame.

Lieutenant Winters. Dick Winters. It's his fault that I'm leaving this place.

He is the only man in my company whom I can't read. Before he disobeyed a direct command and foolishly disregarded the punishment he should have taken like a man, I never saw any hint of anger in him. First I thought he was even better hiding it than Lipton. Then I realized that wasn't the case.

It burns me more than any annoyance I've ever felt; that complete calmness. It's as if nothing can touch him.

No, that's not it. He doesn't isolate himself from others. I've seen him spend time with unseemly people, like Nixon, that slimy sneaky man who is no proper soldier. With him, Winters relaxes, shows real emotion. I have even seen him smile around him.

Yes, I've watched Winters. He is too calm, too composed. That means he hides something, and I've been determined to catch him when he slips.

But he never did. Not while I watched, and I watched him constantly.

Sometimes, I can barely look at him. There's something in that man that I can't pinpoint.

Always trying to be special somehow. Never openly disrespectful, but doing everything to catch my attention. Too perfect. Colonel Sink has noticed him too, I can tell. He keeps his eyes on the men just as I do.

The problem with Winters is that he draws people to him. I have met such men before; they play with you. Do things that make you notice them, and when you do, you can not turn your attention away from them.

He makes me uncomfortable. Infiltrates my thoughts more often than anyone else. Walks around the HQ, almost strutting, clearly enjoying the way people can't look away.

I am not surprised by him conspiring against me. It's so obvious that he would.

Some people just are like that; needing to be the center of everything, driving for the glory, ignoring all the hard work. Winters is exactly like that.

It's impossible to ignore him. I know. I tried. For a long time, I tried not to pay attention to him, but he did everything in his power to be noticed. Everything he does is so clearly aimed for that; his success in tactics, his prowess on the range. The insultingly easy way he runs up the hill, his legs moving as if three miles up and then three miles down are nothing.

He does seem perfect, but is everything but.

I never form any emotional bonds with my men, but I hate him with burning passion. I'm not a sadist, I don't enjoy watching men suffer, but I would love to make him scream. He is too proud. It would be a pleasure to break him.

It has become a favorite daydream of mine; humiliating him, showing him his proper place. Making him understand what the term 'commanding officer' means. I try not to think about it too often, but in the silence of the night, I can not keep the images away. His calm mannerism fading away, those dark eyes of his pleading.

The look would suit him. At least then he wouldn't be ignoring me or taunting me with his whole being, forcing me to think about him all the time. Watching him follow Nixon around like a damn puppy and offering all those shy smiles to him. It's sickening, and someone should teach him a lesson about proper conduct.

It should be me. I am his Captain. How dare he show such blatant disregard for my presence and commands and waste all that energy with someone completely unsuitable to him?

I wish I could have taught him to be a better officer. Broken through that calm exterior and made him listen to me and capitulate. If not willingly, then... He would have learned in time. I would have made him learn.

Not that it would have been easy. No, it would have taken some time. I would have been forced to strip him of his rank, his pride. Torn him apart and built him a better man. Shown him that he should offer his respect to me completely and left him shivering.

My hands shake a little as I close the zip on the bag. I can't think of this now.

Losing control over my own thoughts makes me burn with both shame and dark passion. I have always used all my energy in training my men. This company has been my only passion until now. I hate to leave like this, leaving loose ends.

There is nothing I can do about it anymore. I have been given new orders and unlike some people I could mention, I obey without questions.

All my belongings are packed, so I'm ready to go.

Looking around in my room, I let out a sigh. I wonder if they'll put Meehan here. Probably. He will stay in this room and never understand what it really means to lead Easy Company. It's not his company, and it never will be his.

That thought alone makes me feel a little better. Not much, but a little. "Hi yo, Silver," I mutter and then walk out.

There are not many people here, and I'm grateful. I don't want anyone to witness this. At least most of Easy should be away training.

I open the door and almost stumble into someone. It's bright in the sunlight, and I have to squint to see who it is, my gaze going to his collar to see the rank before the face. Seeing who it is makes me freeze.

"Captain," he says and salutes.

There is clear insubordination in Nixon's voice. I can hear it. The smug tone saying I lost and he won. I want to tell him I know exactly what he's doing, but that would only make his victory sweeter, so I walk past him without a comment.

The door slams shut behind me, separates me from that world, and knowing I'm leaving people like Nixon behind makes me almost feel relieved.

It's time to go. The Sargeant is already sitting behind the wheel, and I throw the bag to the back and climb into the jeep. Now that the time has come, I can't stand staying here for another minute. They will come to realize what a mistake they made sooner or later, and will beg me to come back to help them out of the mess they're making.

I don't look back. Fidgeting around like that would not be proper. There's nothing here I want to see anyway.

At least the Sergeant doesn't try to talk to me. I am not in the mood for idle conversation right now. There is nothing he can possible say to interest me.

A flash of gold catches my attention, and I focus my gaze on the side of the road.

Impossible! Why is he here? Why now?

This is all proof of the conspiracy. First Nixon gloating over his victory, and now this. Dick Winters with his eyes wide, lips parted.

He is standing there, an open expression on his face. I ignore him, ignore the astonishment radiating from him. Even now he defies me. He should be glad I'm leaving, but he just stares at me.

Without words, he still manages to capture all my attention, and I burn inside, overwhelmed, I don't know whether to curse or praise the fact that I'm finally free from his presence. Free from the constant temptation. I will no longer suffer any doubts because of this man.

I keep my gaze in the road ahead and squeeze my hand into a fist.

There's no need for me to think about Winters anymore. He's a nobody, who will never be anything. When this war ends, I'll be known as the best jump instructor the army has, and no one will remember Dick Winters. Not even me. I will forget all about him. Forget his guileless eyes, his calm manner.

The jeep rounds a corner, leaving him behind, and I relax.

I will not dream of him. I will not look back.


End file.
